Tonight
by BurningStorm
Summary: "Tonight I've fallen and I can't get up..." Modern AU.


**([Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any of its characters. Inspired by Tonight by FM Static.])**

"_Favorite color?"_

"_Red," he answered automatically and waited for her to answer._

"_Blue," she laughed, knowing that he would answer so. "Your turn."_

"_Where did you grow up?"_

"_I grew up in a small town in Texas but moved all the way to San Francisco when my family's motel flopped."_

"_I grew up in Boston. I'm glad I'm getting out of there."_

"_Me too," she paused, letting a quiet contentment fill the air before remembering. "Now it's my turn!" she thought quietly for a few seconds, trying to find a good question. "Have you ever been to New York before?"_

"_Once," he replied, running a hand through his already disheveled curls. "When my dad had a conference there, my mom and I went with him. It was... nice. Free. Open."_

"_Sounds like something I need," she mumbled under her breath before making him ask the next question._

He remembered that they kept at the questioning until she fell asleep from exhaustion and he drove in silence, taking a peek at her every now and then. Watching her face in the dim moonlight reminded him of the first time he had _truly_ met her.

"_Enjolras, you'll have to pick up Ep from her apartment. She'll be running late from work but she'll be ready enough that you'll be at the beach by two," Combeferre informed him casually as he led half of the Amis to his car._

"_What?" he asked, confused. _Who was Ep? _"Who's that?"_

"_Ep? Eponine?" Grantaire repeated slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. "You remember Eponine, Enjolras, she's the brunette who snorts at your wild exclamations about the poor. She's the one who puts you back into your place whenever you retort about how the poor can't even help themselves. Remember her?"_

So _that's _the name of the mystery girl, _he thought, rubbing his chin. He had seen her around, argued with her on occasion, but he'd never asked her for her name. He hadn't really thought of asking for it._

He remembered the ride to the beach, the first time a girl had ever ridden in his car.

"_Will you stop doing that?" he scowled, swatting her hand away from the radio._

"_It's music, Enjolras, not gunshots," she rolled her eyes, fiddling with the volume. "Just let me listen to some FM Static, will you?"_

_He frowned, knowing that he had lost the battle and slumped in his seat as he kept his eyes on the road. The music started up and, he had to admit, it wasn't that bad._

"_I used to know a brother but I never knew I loved her 'til the day she laid her eyes on me," Eponine started to sing along to the chorus, nodding her head slowly. "Now I'm jumping up and down, she's the only one around and she means every little thing to me!"_

_She sang with such gusto, such joy and freedom that a small smile crept up on his lips. She turned, banging her head and grinning at him as she sang and pointed, "I've got your picture in my wallet and your phone number to call it!"_

_Enjolras shook his head at her, unable to keep the smile off his face as she continued to sing and head bang to the song._

That was the first time he had ever enjoyed a car ride with someone else.

He remembered telling the Amis of New York, of the scholarship and position he was offered. He remembered the little thrill he felt when Marius suggested that Eponine ride to New York with him, for her to accept the scholarship to Julliard. He remembered how she had opposed until he had offered her help finding an apartment and free use of his radio.

"_And I get to pick the station?" she repeated, doubtful._

"_Yes, you can pick whatever station you want," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Just come to New York with me! Don't waste a chance like this."_

He remembered watching her face light up as New York appeared a mere distance away, its lights dancing and glowing gently upon them. He remembered the dimpled smile that grew on her face as they got closer and closer and the little squeal she let out when they passed the Gershwin theater as they drove deeper into New York. He remembered her clutching his hand excitedly as she bounced in her seat and planned out everything they would do together.

"_And we'll visit every single theater in New York," she declared, grinning madly at him. "Even if we don't watch a thing, we'll just stand outside and enjoy the greatness that is the theater."_

"_You really like theaters, huh?" he noted, smirking at her as he turned left._

"_I love them," she stated firmly, proudly. "Don't you?"_

He remembered parking the car in front of their new apartment building—the apartment he had practically begged her to live in—and carrying half of the boxes up the stairs. He remembered her opening every single box but not unpacking them immediately. He remembered how right it felt to call it their apartment.

* * *

The days turned into weeks which turned into months and then years but somehow he felt like he still needed more time with her. Every day with her was like a dream, a dream that never seemed to end. As much as he loved spending time with her, there were times when he just needed some space, when he was moody or working and she understood that. She always understood him best.

_He woke up with her favorite red blanket wrapped snugly around him a steaming mug of coffee sitting patiently in front of him. When he looked at the papers he had fallen asleep on, he noticed the blue post-it saying that she had to leave early and that she hoped he would have a good day. And that she loved him._

He memorized that letter and kept it in his wallet. In fact, he memorized every letter she left him, whether it was a simple reminder or a one lined 'I love you', he memorized her words and etched them on his heart.

He didn't expect to fall for her. He didn't think that their friendship would develop into something deeper. He never expected for things to go the way they did.

And it hurt. It hurt so much.

* * *

He had fallen off his couch. Again. Ever since that night, he had slept on the couch, unable to face the empty side of the bed. And ever since that night, his mind had been plagued with nightmares.

"_I'll be back by eleven," she gave him a peck on the cheek before shrugging on her jacket. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"_

"_And what if I miss you?" he pouted playfully. He couldn't help but relax and just _be _whenever he was around her._

"_Well, you could look at the stars," she smirked back._

It had started back when they had first moved in together. When he had pestered her enough to become her _best_ friend and she had told him once of a story her mother had used to tell her. How there was always this star that you saw and someone else was looking at that star, too, and that the person looking at that star along with you was supposed to be your soulmate.

"_I guess I could," he smiled, following her out the door. "Stay safe."_

"_No promises," she gave him a cheeky grin before giving him a goodbye kiss and jogging out of the building._

He lay on the ground, staring up at the crème colored wall. He wanted—he _longed—_for her to help him up like she used to.

On nights when she would move and kick on the bed. On those nights when she would shove him off and he would lie on the floor groaning. Those nights when she would wake up and apologize profusely, then help him up off the floor. Nights when she would snuggle closer to him and apologize until she fell asleep.

* * *

He remembered long ago, when she was just opening up to him. When her life was still a little gray spot to him.

"_It started when I was eight," she spoke softly, starting to tremble as she relived her memories._

_He held her in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she told him. He would've stopped her, knowing that it hurt her to relive the moment, but he also knew that she needed to do this. She needed to tell him, to let it all out. So she told him everything._

_From her abusive father, her neglectful mother, her dead brothers, her missing brother, and her raped sister. How her life was so messed up. How he came in like a shining knight, taking her away into the sunset. How she was forever grateful._

He remembered looking out the window and watching her drive their beat up old Corolla out of the parking lot. He remembered watching her drive away, her arm out the window waving goodbye.

* * *

He remembered the days before. The days she'd drag him to the park and make him play tag with her, play hide and seek with her, play on the swing set with her. The days they'd cuddle on the couch, watching one of her favorite movies and musicals, drinking coffee and commenting on the ridiculous situations some characters were in.

"_Come on, Enj!" she laughed, tugging on his hand. "Let's go! I want to watch Jekyll and Hyde!"_

"_Again?" he grumbled, though he wasn't that opposed to the musical._

"_Please?" she begged, giving him her big doe eyes and cute pout._

_He could never say no to that._

_So they went home and played the recording they had of the BBC showing, each holding a cup of coffee in their hands as David Hasselhoff started to sing._

They stayed up until four the next morning, falling asleep tangled in each other's arms on the couch.

* * *

"_I believe in God," she had once informed him. "But I don't believe that I deserve His love. Scum like me don't deserve a God like Him."_

"_You're not scum."_

"_That's what a lot of people say. Sometimes, I believe it, other times, it feels complete bull. But I still like to believe that there's a God up there looking out for me," she paused before rephrasing with more conviction. "I believe that there's a God looking out for me. I mean, He gave me you, didn't He?"_

Instead of replying, he remembered wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her softly on the head. He held her that way the whole night.

He remembered that she was always honest with him.

"_Not everyone will believe in your ideas," she had told him once while she sat in his armchair and he wrote a letter to the senate._

"_I'll make them believe," he had replied passionately._

"_No matter how many times you can spur a crowd, it doesn't mean they'll follow you," she told him honestly. "They're hungry and tired, Enjolras. They can't afford to think about freedom and liberty and equality. They'll cheer for you, yes, but they won't follow you."_

_He stopped writing, turning his seat to face her. "Then what do you propose I do?"_

"_Not stop," she replied evenly._

"_Not stop?" he echoed, his brows furrowed in confusion. One second, she's telling him that not everyone will believe in him and the next, she's telling him to go on without the support. Trying to understand, he asked, "Nobody follows me and yet I go on? Shouldn't I just do something like change ideas?"_

"_Would you change your ideas?" she challenged with a raised brow and he smiled lightly, shaking his head. "Exactly. You don't need people to follow you to change the world, Enjolras. You can change the world all on your own."_

"_Well, that's a pretty lonely thing to do for the rest of my life," he noted._

"_Maybe not all alone," she corrected herself, chuckling. "You'll always have me. Even if your family, your best friends, the _whole world_ doesn't believe in you. I always will."_

"_Except for when we're arguing?" Enjolras teased._

"_Well, I was talking about a different kind of believing," she smirked, pushing herself off the chair and standing behind him. "But I'll always sort-of believe you. Most of the time."_

A sad smile tugged at his lips. A smile of longing for the past. But there was no going back.

* * *

And his memories flew back to the call.

The dreaded call that came at one in the morning was Courfeyrac, holding back tears as Gavroche sobbed in the background.

"_Enjolras," Courfeyrac choked out. "It's—It's Eponine. You need to get here, now. She's—She's in the hospital."_

"_What?" he had whispered, falling into the armchair behind him._

"_She got into an accident and—"_

"_Where are you?" he had recovered from his shock quickly, grabbing his jacket and keys while the phone stayed glued to his ear._

"_Corinth Hospital," Courfeyrac replied automatically. "Enjolras, she's hurt really badly you should get here—"_

"_I'll be there," he had grounded out before slamming the front door closed and flying down the stairs._

He had come to the hospital an hour too late. An hour he always regretted. The hour he always hated.

* * *

Sluggishly, he pushed himself to his feet, trudging to the window that led to the fire escape. He crawled out of the window and climbed up the escape to the rooftop. He fell onto the ground, rolling onto his back and stared up at the dark night sky.

"_I used to have a neighbor," she had once told him. "She was really nice and would always give us cookies and tell us stories. She was like the grandma I never had. She told me once that when people die, they're put up in the skies. She said they become like one of the stars."_

"_Like one of the stars?"_

"_Yeah. At first, I thought she really meant a star so when she passed, I would always look up at the night sky, pick out the brightest star, and talk to it as if it were her."_

"_I'm sensing there's a 'but then' in this story."_

"_But then I grew up and realized that she didn't mean it literally. I still do it sometimes, though, because talking to stars seems better than talking to air."_

He watched the stars twinkle and shine and he could see that there was one particularly bigger and brighter that night.

"Eponine," he called to it. "Eponine, I miss you. But I know you're safe with your God now. I know you're safe in your stars."

He paused, staring at the star in awe. He swore that it got brighter, as if his words made it burn brighter. Fueled by hope, he whispered, "I just wish I was with you."

**([Just listen to Tonight bv FM Static while reading this. It would make a lot more sense :) So, this is my second Song-ish Fic and I hope you enjoyed it. Obviously, the Corinthe Hospital isn't real and I also took** Eponine T. Daae**'s advice and developed Enjolras and Eponine's story more. Tell me what you think, kindly review, favorite,if you want more, or whatever :D Also, if you want more, you can read my other song-ish fic: What Hurts The Most. Hehe, okay, enough self-advertising ;) ])**


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